


In this graveyard it's still no man's land

by aurembiaux



Series: A thousand strands braided together [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe- Interwar Europe, Cabaret singer Nori, Cabarets, Loneliness, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Veteran Dwalin, Weimar Germany, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurembiaux/pseuds/aurembiaux
Summary: Dwalin has spent so much time feeling numb, and welcoming it. Nori's songs put an end to it.
Relationships: Dwalin/Nori (hinted)
Series: A thousand strands braided together [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935388
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	In this graveyard it's still no man's land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thorinsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/gifts).



“And done,” the cabaret’s owner said, after Dwalin had left the last box in the establishment’s pantry. “Here’s your money.”

Dwalin’s boss counted it, as he always did. Dwalin knew it would take him a while, so he took the chance to stretch. The movement made his shirt lift up and drew the patron’s attention towards his abdomen’s scars, but he was used to it.

“This ain’t enough,” his boss complained. “Come on! How am I supposed to make a living if you try to cheat me so? This booze was expensive, mate, and so was the gas for the truck!”

The owner shrugged, defensive.

“You think I don’t know? Inflation is the same for everybody, man.” He shook his head. “Best I can do is promising I’ll make the same order next month, if I’m still open. That, and give you a discount in the drinks you take tonight, if you choose to stay -Nori’s playing.”

Dwalin’s heart skipped a beat. His boss spat.

“No, thanks. We’ll be going. Come on, lad.”

“I want to stay,” Dwalin said.

His boss arched his eyebrows.

“Wanna see that fag? There’s no girl under that make up, you know.”

Dwalin felt his fists clench, and he made a conscious effort to unclench them. He could feel his anger boiling, but he didn’t want to lose his temper. He wouldn’t.

“I like the music.”

“If you call jazz music,” his boss snorted. “Alright then, stay, but I want you ready first thing in the morning.”

“I always am.”

“Don’t get cheeky, lad. There are many fellows in Berlin able to lift boxes.”

He went away, muttering about how useless the young generation was. Dwalin felt his temper raise again, and again he contained it. He wasn’t going to lose his temper. He wouldn’t.

“Alright then, follow me,” the pub owner said. “I’ll give you a good seat.”

He kept his promise, and he gave him a very decent discount on the booze. Dwalin was thankful for both, but mainly for the former. The pub was pretty crowded.

As always, Nori was amazing. Dwalin had been fascinated by the singer since the first time he had seen him on stage. How could such a small man look so large when he was acting, large enough to fill the room? How could he have such a rich, versatile voice? And how could he sing songs that seemed written about Dwalin’s most hidden, unformulated thoughts and feelings?

He had spent so much time feeling numb, and welcoming it. The alternative was wrath and despair. But from the first time he had heard Nori sing, it was like the bandage around his heart had been ripped, and it had stared bleeding again.

It hurt, but it felt good.

He wondered if Nori had fought in the war, like he had. He was so small and scrawny that he seemed a teenager, but that could be deceitful. Food had been so scarce during war that some fellows that had been called to arms during the last years looked like famished scarecrows when they arrived to the front.

The things he sang about made Dwalin think he had been there, though. Who, who hadn’t been in the battlefield, understood those whom had?

Nobody. Nobody did.

Dwalin swallowed his booze and his rage. Balin, Thorin and himself had been lucky enough; they came back alive and whole. Not sane -all of them had scars that ran way deeper than the ones on their skins. Dwalin, particularly, knew that something had broken inside of his head, something that only now started to mend, if it ever would truly mend. Yet he knew he was lucky. Once upon a time, he had had ten classmates in school. Then the war began, and now he had none.

So many, so many young men had been killed so others would benefit.

He didn’t want to think of that. His parents, his uncles, his former teachers, his boss -they didn’t understand the disappointment, the rage and the betrayal his generation felt. They didn’t understand that everything they considered sacred didn’t mean anything to them, not anymore.

But Nori did, and somehow he didn’t sound bitter about it. Sad and angry, sure, but not bitter. On the contrary, he seemed full of life, full of dreams. Dwalin wanted that; he was still so young, damn it. They had stolen his future, all of his friends, and four years of his life. They wouldn’t take the rest.

Since he met Nori, Dwalin wanted to feel again.


End file.
